


Beast With the Four Dirty Paws

by ReceiverofWisdom



Category: Claymore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/F, feedback is always great, might add more to this I kinda dropped it off, this was a stress write, uh I could take this farther
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:17:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReceiverofWisdom/pseuds/ReceiverofWisdom
Summary: A scent in the breeze changes Helen's course.





	Beast With the Four Dirty Paws

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Goatalicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goatalicious/gifts).



Helen opened her mouth, panting in the air as she tried to catch the scent that seemed to fade and ebb. When she passed a tree, it came strong, and it was mouthwatering. And who was she – a beast of lonesome hunger – to ignore such an invitation? Yet it perplexed her as she drew closer, making her way down the slopes of rocks on a deep hillside. It was not the scent of desperation, or fear, or that of wounded prey.  
  
It was deep and resounding. Basking in the warmth of the smell, Helen kept her nose to the ground. Like morning dew and blooming strawberries, it eased her nerves of the unknown, and she shortly came to the flatlands, raising up on her hind legs as she huffed into the crisp morning air, bracing a massive white paw against the study trunk of a pine, golden eyes seeking.  
  
A makeshift shelter was hunched opposite of the clearing. She instinctively bristled, wondering how she had not _possibly_ realized something such as this had been established at the edge of her broad territory. It smelled clearly human; a scent musked all about the place both stale and new.  
  
_Two – perhaps three –_  
  
“Deneve!”  
  
A presence shot past, several feet away, and a startled Helen reared back into the treeline, flattened down further against the forest flooring, ears cocking as she checked for any others. Their telltale scent left her head spinning, like a perfume used in an offending amount. The moment she felt it safe to raise up again, the scent from earlier hit her powerfully.  
  
Of all things, Helen’s gaze rested on that of a human, and her shoulders dropped in disappointment. To have something so alluring turn out to be so base and distasteful –  
  
She shook her massive head, snorted, and went to move back up the hillside and into the mountains.  
  
“That’s more than I expected. You both did good.”  
  
Honey-sweet over her ears, Helen cast her attention over her shoulder, ears cocked forward. The one human with shorter hair who had drawn her from the depths of the forest approached another female, accepting what appeared to be several thin hares. A gift of food, then.  
  
Helen tried to remember what she liked as gifts, long ago, when she had chosen to try to repress her beast. Even in her human form, the sheer overtake of it had damaged her sense of belonging, her ability to function among people commonly. In a way, she could both thank, and bite out the throat of the individual responsible for leaving her a half-finished mess of contorting gore.  
  
Helen simply tried to remember what she had been like, what she did for a living. But these were thoughts for sleepless nights.  
  
Such meatless hares for a meal. Surely, they had come from ‘cross the river into the lower lands of farmers and cattle. She supposed, in spite of that, for a _human_ , that this **Yuma** had performed her hunt with speed. Due to her size, Helen had long since moved on from smaller creatures, ‘less they made themselves an easy target or drew too close to her.  
  
_Another_ appeared, hair in a braid, and a small basket of what could only be assumed to be fruit beneath her arm.  
  
Huffing, and decisively bored, Helen turned again and loped up the hill.  
  
\---  
  
In the night, Helen came again.  
  
The scent made her restless.  
  
She hefted her head high, watching her footing among sharp rocks that dug into the pads of her paws. When she reached the entrance to the hunting trail she had peered from before, Helen rose up on her hind legs, dropping the carcass of an elk at her feet with a solid thud, and looked on through the night. Her light coating gave her little cover where the land was without snow. She took a long and leisurely time to discern any amount of movement from beyond the shelter. It was bigger than half a day prior, with furs slung over the entrance, and cracks in woven sticks to suggest a fire, spewing out its smoke from a hole in the roof, doubtlessly. That in itself was difficult to see when her concern was elsewhere.  
  
_It_ was still present, and it was still irresistibly enticing. She licked along her teeth and hefted the elk under her arm, then supported it with another, dragging it as silently across the clearing as she could manage. Several yards away, Helen dropped into a crouch, a firm hold on the prey’s broad mid-season antlers as she scanned the area.  
  
She had not thought ahead of time what to do to gain their attention. A bark or shuffling might shoo the inhabitants deeper into their shelter. She dropped it near the remains of another fire, nothing but warm embers, and sought a rock she could toss, once safely across the clearing.  
  
The scent, so near to it, made her blackened lips turn up into the remnant of a smile. She turned her head to catch it better in the breeze, and froze, the smile sliding away like melted snow.  
  
Before her leathery nose, halfway out from the shelter, was the human, silver eyes catching Helen’s gold.  
  
They stayed frozen for several moments, but of course, such peace was rarely held between her kind and that of _them_.  
  
When her eyes flicked to the human’s hand, which slowly reached for something hidden, Helen was away in an instant and bounding across the clearing to freedom.  
  
\---  
  
In the morning, Helen rose early out of a deep disturbance that churned within her gut and chest. She attempted pacing, gnawing on things, and finally decided to make the trek again.  
  
What she found made her gnash her teeth and grind them.  
  
The elk lied there, untouched over the night, the small shelter gone entirely.  
  
Helen ripped apart the clearing with thick, dark claws, nose pressed about the tree. The trail had been covered, and covered well, but she was beyond a simple wolf. In a short period of time, Helen had sorted out a firm path, and wasted little time in following it, abandoning both the clearing and the gift to the descending ravens.  
  
She tore through the forest, though it was not hers, with a keen sense of footing. After a fair hour, when the sun had risen further along the treetops until the grounds were a warmly brilliant display of color, the general scent of the humans grew stronger, along with new ones that she puzzled over. It was hardly short of an invasion, seeing so many in such a short period of time.  
  
It would have been challenging to get closer, had they the senses she possessed, and she felt no great feat at being merely yards from them, pressed tightly along a vast collection of white poplars.  
  
One of them snorted, followed by a giggle.  
  
“ _Tabitha_.” A great pause, and then a sigh so deeply repressed that Helen had to smile. “I spent an hour on that.”  
  
“Payback for soaking my spell book. You spent thirty minutes tops.”  
  
She heard shuffling, a grunt, and more giggling. A sharper scent made Helen move on, as it made her mouth salivate, just like the one she attempted to focus on and pinpoint; though part of her wanted to return to where she had been and observe. She still had _some_ concept of privacy in these matters.  
  
_Spell book_ , however, had been noted in the back of her mind. She had never seen a witch, let alone been in the presence of one, but it was easy to assume. It made slightly more sense as to why there were suddenly so many, so deep in those wild woods without false materials, or the sharp containers of whatever _beer_ was that she sometimes came across. She knew in the least that while they respected what was around them, they were not to be taunted.  
  
When Helen found the _specific human_ , she lied down in a thicket, once used by deer, and clearly not for her size. It provided cover regardless, and shade from the coming day even if the winds foretold of chill.  
  
It was by nightfall, and by some miraculous patience that Helen plodded off silently to hunt again.  
  
When she dropped off three fat squirrels and a hare, they were gone by the morning, but the slightly larger shelter remained. She wiggled her tail as she stretched away the cramped position she had stuffed herself into after barely squeezing her way out of a large crevice of rocks and twigs.  
  
The only one whose name she could put to a face stood outside idly, leaned against the trunk of the tree and scanning the treelines. A now-posted lookout made her uneasy. She huffed deeply, and paced out of range, deeper into the woods, and she left them alone for days as she hunted for herself.  
  
In this time, she reflected.  
  
In some form, at some time, Helen wished herself to be known. Long an outsider, their kinship and smiles made her ache in a way she could no longer describe. She watched them work together to collect water from one basin, and bathe and rest in another. They did not seem to concern over nudity in the slightest in this time, and Helen wondered if she could get away with approaching them in a bare, human form.  
  
But _oh_ , it had been so long since she had assumed it, and it would be dropping nearly all of her defenses.  
  
Debating these options alone frustrated her the greatest. She scratched a hand-like paw against the back of her neck as her golden orbs traced the scene.  
  
To drop her defenses, and reveal herself out of cover when it had been entirely clear what the short-haired human saw, seemed far too obvious after the events. She did not survive this long to make foolish, hasty decisions. For the most part. Sort of.  
  
Not when she had spotted a blade or two, at some point.  
  
And who was she, to assume they did not seek to hunt together when the time struck them as right? Her bones could be ground for various purposes, and her pelt was plush and healthy.  
  
She came back again in the night, squinting at the individual standing outside. The scent of the others will still ever-present, but stale, and a good portion of her was focused on the heavy boar sitting comfortably and loosely in her large jaws.  
  
_Her_.  
  
Helen took a soaring chance, and descended from the treeline into the open, and stood to her full, imposing height of approximately eight feet. It was to be expected that she be noticed, and noticed she was.  
  
The woman did not move an inch from where she leaned against a tree, arms dropped. Her hair was perhaps the shortest of them all, by no comparison, and if she was disturbed she hid it well. Pointedly, she allowed a broad blade to glimmer in the moonlight, and Helen could smell the sharp tang of steel. For a long moment, neither of them moved, and Helen breathed in that sweet, drawing smell until she was practically drunk on it.  
  
A fair distance from the encampment, ears twisting in all directions, Helen took several hunched, heavy steps forward before she dropped the boar, and sent it tumbling forward with a hard nudge.  
  
She backed up, unwilling to turn entirely away from the human, and was caught by surprise when the other asked her name.  
  
It had been a long time since she had to use it, and a longer time still since it escaped her throat. She opened to speak, and ended up gracefully hacking from misuse. As Helen attempted again, she managed to make a noise that _sounded_ like part of her name.  
  
“I see.” The human stated, with a nod of her head, and Jean knew it was simply humoring her attempt.  
  
“My name is Deneve.”  
  
Helen perked an ear, and tried to commit it carefully to memory, churning the way the other had said it repeatedly in her head, and then the ear dropped back in displeasure.  
  
“If you come here again, we will kill you.”  
  
\---  
  
Helen came back again.  
  
Several days afterwards, to be safe.  
  
And there, they still lied.  
  
Helen smelled it, thankfully, before she stepped foot inside. It was tangy and smarted her nose. Any other would have been affronted enough to turn tail. She ducked her head, searching along the ground until she found an array of symbols carved deeply into the earth; clearly meant to be temporary. It amused Helen greatly that they knew so little of her as to think something so simplistic would work.  
  
She stomped a paw over the collection of symbols found, one of many, and the wall seemed to diminish in an instant.  
  
They chased her through the trees and Helen left them in the dust with a laugh at her canine lips.  
  
She left them alone a good while afterwards, skulking right back to where she had been and planting herself where she could see them clearly. At one point, Deneve looked in her direction and her heart stuttered as she stood, ready to run again, until the human’s attention was borrowed. It was rare for them all to be in the same proximity at once.  
  
Counting them, there were six, and over the long days, she had come to know them all by face. Their leader was very rarely seen.  
  
\---  
  
“Left another.” Deneve walked towards the group, two squirrels hung at her belt, and half of a deer carcass Helen had left for them.  
  
Half was generous, in Helen’s opinion. She had still been hungry afterwards, but considered their plight.  
  
She heard Yuma sigh aloud, and blow long, brilliantly gold strands from her face, but her focus was locked on the peculiar sight of Deneve lugging such a prize behind her. Either by spell, or true strength, but regardless, the way she flexed beneath the dark form-fitting attire had Helen lolling her tongue out and staring unabashed, as if there was any one to distinguish the morals of a beast.  
  
When her thoughts wandered into unforeseen territory, Helen stopped herself, and closed her maw. She wondered then, if she continued to follow them out of overbearing boredom, or for other means.  
  
The shuddering aroma had initially drew her, but she had not reflected heavily on it. She smelled nice, and that was all Helen cared for. Lost in herself, she only withdrew from speculation with a gust of wind.  
  
Moon above, the smell made her salivate. For a short time, she wondered if a taste would sate her. It did not draw hunger from her, but it made her stomach tight and the flesh far beneath her fur tingle. She rested her chin on her paws, wiggled into comfort, and basked in the image of lavishing such fine skin with her tongue, drowning endlessly in that vast land of temptation.  
  
She fell into baseless dreams.  
  
\---  
  
In the far away hills of an ethereal landscape, a white elk stood that shared her breath and blood. It knew the scent of her human skin and every ache within it. It turned in endless circles of snow, awaiting her call.  
  
\---  
  
She awoke startled. The rustling of bushes, though far off, had roused her attention and with a deep sense of unease, she realized she had dozed in a rather open location, compared to what she would usually select. The rustling started at her right, and began to fade away behind her. Standing, she shook herself of moss and stood, using her forepaws to press against trees and duck under slings of vines. The act of standing on her rear feet, much more possible by her contorted biology, did not often fail to make her feel just a little more human.  
  
Somewhere, deep under her layers, she was.  
  
The scent was dull, but familiar in a way that Helen could not discern and it only intrigued her more. As it faded, she picked up her pace, and the bounded boldly on all fours to its last known location. Helen stopped short as soon as it vanished. She cocked her broad ears in all directions, parting her mouth to try to taste the air, and wandered forward.  
  
Only for her left leg to be ripped out from under her and jerked upwards. Thrown off her feet, Helen smacked the entirety of her face against the hard ground before she was in the air, upside down and delirious.  
  
Decades of teasing hunters, and she had fallen into such an infuriatingly simple contraption. Snarling, Helen looked upwards, craning her neck to see the thick rope responsible. So thick, it was hard to comprehend why she had not seen it to begin with. The tree groaned deeply at her weight when she shifted, and she contorted herself to try and hook a talon against the rope. A cold, sharp sensation snaked against the side of her neck, and she froze.  
  
“I gave you a clear warning.”  
  
Helen’s already frantic heart sputtered as she turned a little more, seeking the voice out. Unkindly, the other responded by angling her blade and pressing the tip firmly against the opening between Helen’s jaw and throat. When she swallowed, the blade dug in effortlessly, and Helen went knowingly still.  
  
Deneve stood before her, caked in mud from head to toe, and using _some_ sort of trinket, surely, to dispel her scent, but so close, Helen picked up on it, and her tail gave an involuntary wiggle.  
  
“Is this funny to you?”  
  
Helen chuffed in the morning air, trying to assess how thick the blade was. If she could angle her head just so-  
  
“I won’t kill you. I wanted you to know that I can, and I will, catch you.”  
  
_Why_? Helen wanted to implore. Perhaps the vaguest furrow in her brow warranted the other to explain. The woman took a great risk – leaning in close to Helen, and lowering her tone. The blade remained firmly pressed, but a snap from Helen’s powerful jaws would easily cost the other greatly. A limb, perhaps a face. A head was not beyond her.  
  
“Dropping dead, half-eaten animals as a warning is ineffective. You will leave.”  
  
Helen cocked her head, and was rewarded with sharp pain. The accusation was one she had never considered. They were _gifts_!  
  
She whined, long and low and deep.  
  
Deneve left her hanging, howling her sorrow and anger and bleeding crimson from surface cuts.  
  
\---  
  
She might have given up her odd pursuit afterwards, but she was Helen.  
  
She slunk into warm springs of toasty water that stung her various wounds. Light, and certainly not lethal, but it was meant to get the message into her head.  
  
Rather, it buried a seed of determination within her.  
  
The scent alone was no longer what drew her.  
  
As the beast submerged herself entirely, poking her head out on the other side to rest it on a rocky ledge, she reflected. So many years in solitude, so long without her voice. In a land of empty cold, Deneve lit a flame within her chest. It felt natural to be around them all, even at a distance – as if she belonged, in some way or another. Their activities made her days less long, and their laughter and joking made her grin.  
  
Hunters and campers, though the land had been so long without them, only served to agitate her.  
  
She wanted them to stay, just as they were, comfortably nested in a pocket of bountiful greenery and fresh streams. She had even witnessed Tabitha give rise to flowers, once, right out of the ground in seconds! The action delighted their leader, and it was clear that not all were capable of such. But they were capable of varying things.  
  
“Are you serious?”  
  
Helen gruffed and lifted her head, already expectant of what would meet her. Deneve was bare from the waist up, and only folded her arms when Helen stared; the only bit of modesty yet witnessed, if that was the cause. She stared more, and the tension seemed to thicken.  
  
No, she was not moving.  
  
Certainly not when the other met her without a weapon. Deneve did not shy for the reasons Helen expected. There was only the slightest prick of fear within her.  
  
For once, Helen was weary, and preferred to be let alone. Her pride smarted more than anything from their earlier encounter.  
  
If it had been anyone else, Helen would have reminded them why her kind was so greatly feared. It angered her to be so coldly disregarded; to be made a fool of, to have her lack of guard taken advantage of, but it was her own fault for dropping her guard under the false pretenses of comfort.  
  
To see any amount of hurt on the human’s face would not have brought her satisfaction. As far as she was concerned, if the other truly meant to do away with her, she would have done so when Helen was at her most vulnerable.  
  
The water rippled and with great shock, Helen realized the other was _climbing in_. Reactively, half of Helen shot up out of the water, ready to spill over the edge and take off once more. Running was all she seemed to do. The water made her fur stick tightly to her, and her muscles were coiled, ready to push her weight out of the basin faster than the other would be able to reach her.  
  
But Deneve displayed no effort, only leaning back against the high edge that encompassed the waters, fixating the werewolf with an unwavering stare.  
  
For a long while, it remained that way, with the cold picking brutishly at Helen’s weeping wounds until she cautiously sunk back into the waters, centimeter by centimeter. The water went pink around the wounds that had been exposed to the air. She wiggled closely to the wall of rock encasing them as Deneve picked at the surface of the water, coming away with plenty of fur pinched between her thumb and forefinger.  
  
“Is this how you turn others? Covering them in as much hair as you have?”  
  
Helen looked at the surface, and all the fur that floated along, lost from stress and the natural abrasion of the springs.  
  
Was it a jest? Surely, the other could not be so dim.  
  
“This is probably the most one-sided conversation I’ll ever have,” Deneve continued, wiping her hand on the outside of the rocks.  
  
Helen did not respond.  
  
“Miria thinks you’re leaving the kills as gifts.”  
  
She cocked an ear, and regarded Deneve more openly. _Of course that’s what they were for_. She had the urge to swipe a wave of water at the other, and refrained. For the time being.  
  
Deneve was the one to flick water at her. Helen wiggled until she was sitting on her rear, as opposed to being hunched over like a feral wolf. Her size was almost comical compared to the other, but Deneve was no small woman. Helen wanted to press their hands together to gauge the difference.  
  
“So?”  
  
Helen puzzled for a moment, and brought herself to an understanding, nodding her head.  
  
Deneve seemed significantly content with the answer offered. It was slight, but her shoulders were less tense, and she seemed to sink just a bit deeper.  
  
“It would be easier to talk if you changed forms. I have nothing to hurt you with.”  
  
Helen debated it for a time. It had been a long, long while since she last looked at skin, rather than fur. A long while since she felt the rawness of the wilds around her in her barest form. She feared it deeply, she realized.  
  
Deneve did not stare at her, but she felt stripped regardless. To lose the sharpness of her teeth and the strength of her arms that surpassed bears.  
  
No.  
  
Helen lifted her left leg out from the water, paws peeking above the surface before she kicked, shoving water all over the other.  
  
To Deneve’s credit, she did not get upset. She continued sitting there, perhaps until she was sure Helen was done, before she smeared a hand down her face to be rid of the water, and then stood.  
  
Half of the beast was apprehensive, until Deneve turned around and leaned over the edge, returning with hands clasping a bucket. A sharp noise left Helen as she scrambled to get out of the water, only to succumb to the drenching revenge.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading through this. I might end up adding more to it.


End file.
